


Red

by sellertape



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, SRS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:45:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellertape/pseuds/sellertape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for SRS Bonus Round 4 (Speechless) - Gordon Walker tracks Castiel through Purgatory</p>
<p>If you spend even five minutes looking around my tumblr you'd probably see how typical this is.<br/>Also who is Taylor Swift?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wand3rlust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wand3rlust/gifts).



one two three four, breathe two three four, step two three four...

The modern world had lost its rhythm, Gordon Walker found as soon as his new eyes had opened to a welcoming committee of towering trees. Humans had lost their fear of death, and with it the primal dance of surviving.

Which was the closest thing to funny he’d heard since the Winchesters claimed to be heroes.

Back on Earth, humans could still die. Here, almost nobody could, and yet the fear was back.

green two three four, grey six seven eight, red ten eleven twelve...

The human reaction to the colour red winds its way back to perhaps the earliest sentient thought. Red on allies meant abandonment. Red on enemies meant a final strike. It’s been tapped into in the modern world, with red being saved for when they eye needed to be caught; red, your taxes are overdue, red, your teacher denies your ability to regurgitate useless facts, red, stop before you cause a ten car pileup and live with dead people on your shoulders for the rest of your days.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he left all that behind. The systems of traffic, education and economy were lost on the inhabitants of Purgatory. There were no colours here except foliage, the washed out grey of a sky with no sun. And red. There was still lots of red.

Red like the fires around which tales flit like gnats. Recently they had all been the same one.

Angel angel angel. Human. Vampire. _Angel_.

step two three four, listen six seven eight, smell ten eleven twelve...

Everyone had begun to run from the stories, which served to make them easier to see. Find an empty space and fill it, most likely stepping over the carcasses of souls who hadn’t known how to find an angel. As if it was difficult.

Angels were red too. All you had to do was coax the blood out.

It had fallen against a tree perhaps ten feet away and left grace-glistened red smeared across the bark. He let it soak a palm, dragging his nails through it until the aroma almost made him heady. He had only been two types of hunter. First, one who would never dream of working intoxicated.

in two three four, out two three four, blood six seven eight...

Second, one to which it was not only a pleasure, but a requirement.

The moment it passes his lips, the blood washes out any colour the world had clung to. All he could see was the next red. And the next. More.

red two three four...

Was that the blood rushing in his ears or were they close to running water?

five six seven eight...

His breathing wasn’t that heavy, something had come into earshot.

nine ten eleven twelve...

Another colour erupts into view; not green, or grey, or even red.

The tan of a trench coat.

He’d soon make it blend in.


End file.
